


Semblance of Hope

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Univers - John Wick, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bartender Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Hitman Derek, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9549857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: “Have a drink,” John offered, looking over Derek’s shoulder at the bar. “I know that a certain someone would be happy to see you again.”Derek turned to look over his shoulder, catching sight of a familiar head of messy hair, pale skin, and moles. The exact person he wanted to see behind the bar.Stiles.It had been almost five years since Derek saw Stiles, remembering the last night he saw him. How much of a coward he had been, sneaking out of the room before Stiles could wake. He wasn’t any good—for anyone.And he knew, more than anything, he didn't deserve Stiles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Baba Yaga is a faery tale, usually pertaining to the witch of the woods, also transitioning into the present day Boogeyman. The Ladies of the Wood in Witcher 3 are actually based off of the Baba Yaga.
> 
> If you've never seen John Wick, they call him the Baba Yaga because he's the one you call "to kill the fucking Boogeyman." Aka, he's really good at being a hitman.

“I’m about to reveal to you highly privileged information,” John started, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. He watched the liquid smoothly pour into the tumbler, allowing himself the distraction from facing the reality of the situation. “And should you succeed in my terms of the contract, you will be one of a select few left alive with that knowledge.”

Derek remained silent, knowing that John was sincere in the severity of this conversation.

“I was married once,” John confessed. “A long time before you entered our world, making a name for yourself.” He looked up at Derek. “The gold coins you will be receiving upon completion of the task were designed by my late wife. It was her … legacy, before we met. She designed the coins as a symbol of inclusivity and recognition.”

Derek recalled the uniqueness of the coin hanging from Stiles’ neck, dangling off a chain. He saw the coin a number of times, whenever Stiles leaned over the bar to flirt with Derek, swaying so close to Stiles’ heart. It was nicer than the coins in circulation—the detail finer, slightly altered.

“My wife died more than a decade ago,” John added, watching his hand gently swirl the alcohol in the glass. “That coin is one of the only things left of her in this world. The other … the other is far more precious to me than what they are asking for.”

Derek fixed his gaze on John. He knew what he was saying. It hadn’t taken Derek long to see how similar Stiles was to John—his approach to detail, his mannerisms, his morality in a world depraved of it. And he knew that if he could see it, others would figure it out eventually.

“Stiles is your son,” Derek commented, unsurprised by the revelation that the bartender who acted like he owned the place, in an indirect way, actually owned the place.

“I’m not surprised you knew that,” John admitted, a slightly fond smile on his lips.

“Stiles hasn’t been at the bar all night,” Derek stated. “When I asked Boyd, he informed me that Stiles isn’t feeling well.” He leaned forward, folding his hands together over the table as he studied John’s features. “But I’m going out on a limb and saying you asked to see me because Stiles isn’t sick.”

“Some coward thought they could get to me through my son,” John answered, his features sunken, weighed down by anger. “They want to flood Beacon with their corruption. They want to try and bend what this place represents, mold it to their will.”

Derek turned his head to look at Boyd and a few of the other men, noting how on edge they were. “Have they hurt Stiles?” He asked, turning back to look at John.

“They let me talk to him,” John answered. “That’s it. A few words to let me know he’s alive before audibly backhanding him for talking back.”

Derek partially snorted.

“Do you find this funny?” John partially demanded.

“It means Stiles isn’t scared,” Derek explained. “With all due respect, John, you don’t give your son the credit he deserves.”

John’s features softened briefly, eyes evaluating Derek.

“Stiles is smart,” Derek stated as if it should have been common knowledge. “He’s going to annoy them into being distracted—into not paying him as much attention as they should. And when they are most vulnerable, Stiles will make his escape.”

“They’ll kill him if they get the chance,” John answered. “My son _is_ my most valued possession, if you will. I promised his mother I’d protect him—that I’d keep him safe from this life. I already failed in keeping him away from it. But I’m not going to let him die because of me.”

Derek moved to stand, easily buttoning his jacket as he looked down at John. “I accept the contract.”

John released a heavy breath, relieved that Derek accepted. At this point, he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d trust with Stiles’ safety.

“The bodies buried tonight,” Derek started, his tone void and serious. “My price is liquidation of my involvement in this life.”

John looked somewhat surprised, not thinking Derek would broach the subject so soon.

“My sister is ill,” Derek explained, aware of John’s unspoken curiosity. “After I finish this mission, I have one more contract for Chris. Then I’m done. I decided you deserved to know that.”

John faintly nodded. “Words of advice, Derek,” he started, leaning back in his chair. “If you can find a way out, stay gone. Don’t get dragged back here.”

Derek looked away from John, unable to admit the truth—he never wanted to be here to begin with. He let himself fall into the carnage and chaos without a thought of backing out. It wasn’t until Laura called him, in tears as she told him her diagnosis—a few years if they were lucky—that he realized how deep he waded into the murky shadows of this life.

“You’ll have your son back within the next few hours,” Derek offered, not wanting to admit to John that he was scared. He was terrified that this life wasn’t going to let him walk away—that he was going to be stuck in an endless loop of pain and suffering.

~*~

Stiles winced as he nursed his wrists, his steps calm as he walked towards the door. He managed to incapacitate his two guards, not at all surprised they were easy to handle. He batted his eyelashes and licked his lips, promising to be more entertaining if they loosened his restraints. The back of his head still hurt where he abruptly stood up, slamming his skull into the guard’s face—the one who thought he was going to shove his cock in Stiles’ mouth without consequence. He used a few of the moves Erica had been teaching him, using his body weight and restricted movement to the disadvantage of the guards. He was proud of himself when both men were laying on the floor unconscious.

Stiles grabbed the first object he could find—conveniently, one of the guards left behind the baseball bat he had been threatening Stiles with. He checked the hallways before entering them, retracing the route they took to get him in the secluded room. From what he recalled, he knew they were underground, too many flights of stairs down from the alley they entered the building from to just be a standard basement.

Stiles heard the sound of fast footsteps, hiding next to the door as he waited for an opportunity to hit the unsuspecting person into unconsciousness. He swung as soon as the person came through the door.

The person swiftly grabbed the bat, grabbing hold of Stiles and slamming him against the wall, pressing their bodies together to cage Stiles in.

It was Derek.

“Hey, good looking,” Stiles partially whispered, a small smile pulling at his lips as he released his hold on the bat.

“Stiles,” Derek calmly answered, not moving to release Stiles from his hold.

“ _Baba Yaga_ ,” Stiles lightly smirked. “Has the boogeyman come to scare my captors away?”

A faint smirk pulled at Derek’s lips, his eyes tracking Stiles’ as he searched for a sign that Stiles was hurt.

“More like whisk the damsel away from danger,” Derek commented.

“By all means, whisk me away, hero,” Stiles answered, his hands settling around Derek’s back as he kept himself close to him.

Derek kicked the door back out, colliding the metal into an unsuspecting guard, easily knocking him unconscious.

Stiles leaned forward when he heard the groan followed by the sound of a body slumping down to the floor. He leaned back against the wall, looking up at Derek. “You don’t disappoint.” A small frown pulled at his lips. “Not that I’m not grateful for the rescue, but I’m curious—how did you know I needed rescuing?”

“Your father asked me,” Derek plainly answered.

Brief worried sparked across Stiles’ features before he masked them. “What did my dad say?”

“He wants you safe,” Derek replied, turning to the door. He kept himself as a barrier between Stiles and the inevitable fight that would come to get out of the building. “And an example made.”

Stiles stared at Derek’s back, knowing that what was about to happen was going to leave a mark on the entire underworld.

~*~

Stiles had seen Derek work only once before. And it wasn’t really work—it was more of a minor inconvenience for Derek.

Stiles remembered how curious Derek made him, just rumors surrounding his dark and brooding nature. Derek looked harmless enough, sitting off to the end of the bar, minding his own business after Stiles had poured him a drink. He was one of the only patrons in the club that didn’t allow his gaze to linger on Stiles, despite Stiles’ attempts to flirt with him.

Stiles left him in peace after his initial dismissal of all small talk. He knew what it was like for some people after finishing a job—a desire to just shut it all off and forget that you were considered the scourge of the earth.

Stiles was minding his own business, enduring the pathetic attempts some of the patrons still tried with him, knowing that he rarely stepped across the bar and walked anyone back to their room. He glared at the guy who thought he could push things further by grabbing his arm, yanking him back towards the bar.

“Take your hand off me,” Stiles lowly stated, his voice losing its formerly playful tone to help register just how much of a mistake the guy just made.

“You weren’t being very nice, Stiles,” the guy retorted.

Stiles glared at him. “I don’t fuck wannabe assassins, dickface,” he countered, snatching his arm away from him.

“Little shit,” the guy muttered, moving to stand. He was already swaying, clearly too drunk to remember the rules of Beacon. “Acting like a saint, when everyone used to get a free show behind the dumpsters.”

Stiles bristled at that. It was once, he was seventeen, and he had a crush on the guy. He didn’t know it meant nothing—that he would lead him on for months before dropping him like he was nothing. The guy was still banned from Beacon, on threat of Stiles’ dad having him killed for stepping a toe into his territory.

“You should retire for the evening,” Derek’s voice traveled over the soft jazz of Erica’s singing echoing through the club.

“No one asked you,” the guy snapped.

“You didn’t ask him,” Derek replied, turning in his stool to look at the man. He remained seated, as if the conversation wasn’t escalating—that he wasn’t baiting a shark. “You just assumed he’d want to fuck you.”

“Like I said, none of your business,” the guy angrily huffed.

Stiles allowed his eyes to drift to Derek, watching him carefully.

Derek calmly evaluated Stiles before releasing a sigh. “I’m making it my business, at John’s request.”

The dropping of Stiles’ father’s name seemed to sober the man some. “He’s never cared before who his bartenders fuck.”

“He cares if his bartenders are being intimidated,” Derek answered.

“A twink really worth getting your ass kicked?” The man angrily declared.

Stiles turned to look at the man, watching as his friends suddenly grabbed him, pulling him away from the bar.

“He didn’t mean it,” one of the friends said to Derek.

“I’m not the one to apologize to,” Derek replied.

The friend turned to Stiles. “He didn’t— he’s drunk. He wouldn’t have done anything without your consent.”

Stiles folded his arms over his chest. “Didn’t sound like it. Someone needs to teach him manners.”

“And any other person but him, and I’d agree with you,” the friend answered, gesturing towards Derek.

Stiles looked at Derek, noticing that he had gone back to his drink but had kept his peripheral on Stiles.

“We’re … okay, right?” The friend asked, both to Stiles and Derek.

“Make sure he doesn’t get drunk here again,” Stiles answered in a bored tone.

Derek made a small wave to the man, dismissing him as being less than worthy of his time.

Stiles took his time as he made his way over to Derek. He leaned against the bartop, looking at Derek. “Thanks,” he stated when Derek didn’t make a motion to register that he even knew Stiles was there.

“You had it under control,” Derek answered, looking up from his drink. “His obnoxious voice was blocking out the music though.”

A faint smile pulled at Stiles’ lips. “Right, because you weren’t being chivalrous.”

“Chivalry doesn’t really exist,” Derek answered. “Everyone always wants something out of it in the end.”

Stiles observed Derek carefully. “And what do you want out of it?”

Derek turned his head to look at the stage. “Just to hear my friend sing,” he gestured towards Erica.

“Not going to call me a whore?” Stiles asked. “Not going to ask for something in return? Behind the dumpster?” His disgust for the insinuation was evident on his face, and he was hoping he was right about his first impression of Derek.

“Having a tryst with the person you consider your boyfriend doesn’t make you a whore,” Derek answered, looking at Stiles.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, leaning forward some. “You seem to know a lot.”

Derek leaned forward, allowing his face to come closer to Stiles’. He was partially amused at how Stiles didn’t pull away from him. “You tend to know the details when you are asked to scare people away.”

Stiles pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side as if he was considering Derek. “You’re pretty scary, sitting in the corner of a bar all by yourself.” He flicked his nail against the clear glass mug he had made Derek’s Americano in, snorting when he heard the familiar clink. “Drinking coffee when everyone else is getting drunk.”

“I have to be aware of my surroundings,” Derek answered, unmoving as he kept his eyes on Stiles.

“Really?” Stiles asked, skeptic of Derek’s projected mystery.

Derek faintly nodded, giving a soft hum of affirmation.

“Then who is walking up behind you right now?” Stiles asked, not moving from his spot as he slowly reached his hand below the bartop, his fingertip flicking the panic switch that would alert Boyd that there was a situation happening.

“The drunk,” Derek barely answered before he stood, reacting before Stiles could. He used the bar stool, barely reacting as he used it to keep on of the attackers at bay, easily moving out of reach of another. He spun, his hand barely touching the bar as he scooped up the pen Stiles had left behind after initially talking to Derek.

Stiles only startled when he saw the knife slice at Derek’s ribs, only backing away when Derek used the bar to drive the pen further into the man’s throat, watching the blood stain the smooth surface of the bar. He looked at Derek, his curiosity only growing.

The club acted as if the situation was a minor inconvenience, avoiding stepping close to the dead body and blood spatter.

“Derek,” John’s voice greeted, having made his way over from his usual booth the moment he was informed Stiles had flipped the panic switch.

“John,” Derek answered, moving away from the mess he had just created. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

John looked down at the dead man.

“You weren’t conducting business by killing Mr. Randall, were you?” John calmly asked.

“No, sir,” Derek replied. “We had a disagreement.”

“About?” John asked, looking up at Derek.

“Me,” Stiles spoke up, knowing his father would be annoyed, but not displeased. “Randall reached over the bartop. Wanted me to walk him back to his room, and when he wouldn’t take no for an answer, Derek interrupted.”

John’s expression softened some when he looked at Stiles. It was his one tell, and he knew Derek knew about it. He cleared his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets, retrieving a few gold coins. He handed one of the gold coins to Isaac, a silent command to call in cleanup. He handed his other gold coin to Derek.

Derek looked at the coin then to John, slowly accepting it from him.

“For the surgeon,” John answered as he gestured towards Derek’s side. “Get that cleaned up before it gets infected and you’re useless to me.”

Derek fondly smiled at that.

“I’ll take him,” Stiles offered before John could say anything, moving to the other side of the bar. He wanted to know more about Derek. He wanted a chance to see if Deaton knew him—if Derek would tell him anything else.

Derek seemed to comply with Stiles’ play to learn more about him, silently accepting Stiles accompanying him to the elevator. He followed after Stiles, a little amused at how slow Stiles was walking to accommodate Derek’s wound.

Derek didn’t bother to question the fact that Stiles would know where his room was. He knew Stiles could discover it on a whim if he really wanted to. He deposited his keys on the table by the door, walking over to the bed. He allowed himself to fall onto the edge of the bed, simply unbuttoning his shirt as he listened to Stiles phone for Deaton.

Stiles hated feeling useless. He moved to help Derek, easing his shirt off of his shoulders. He tried to ignore the fact that Derek was staring at him.

“Thanks,” Derek stated, pulling at his tank top as he pulled the material off of one arm at a time.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Stiles finally pressed through the silence as they waited for Deaton to come. His hands clutching at Derek’s ruined shirt.

“Kill someone who was trying to kill me?” Derek asked, leaning forward on the edge of the bed as he reached for the whiskey he had stashed on the nightstand.

“Tell him off,” Stiles replied. “People treat me like that all the time, and every time it’s the same—you just happened to spice things up this time.”

“People shouldn’t be treating you like that,” Derek replied, watching the whiskey pour into the glass.

Stiles watched Derek closely. He leaned against the wall as he waited. He was silent when Deaton finally arrived, watching the man take care of Derek. He paced a small amount, anxious for news that the wound wouldn’t inconvenience Derek.

“A clean cut,” Deaton stated, as he finished stitching up Derek’s wound.

“What type of movability can I expect?” Derek asked, setting his drink down on the nightstand.

“Do you have to go out tonight?” Deaton questioned, seemingly annoyed at Derek’s question.

“No,” Derek honestly answered.

“I would stay in,” Deaton replied. “Minor nightly activity shouldn’t stress it.”

“I was thinking sleep,” Derek stated, watching Stiles as he allowed Deaton to finish.

“Sleep would be fine, Mr. Hale,” Deaton answered.

Stiles’ features twitched a little at the mention of Hale. He knew the name—he heard the stories. And suddenly, the drunken buffoon’s friends being so panicky and scared made since. It wasn’t that they were afraid of John or even Stiles’ reputation for breaking appendages. They were afraid of Derek.

Hale. Derek Hale. _Baba Yaga_.

Stiles lingered longer than necessary, standing beside Derek as they both watched Deaton leave down the hallway. He knew that Deaton wanted to speak with him—that they were both going to have to go speak with his father about what happened. He turned to look at Derek, slowly taking a step back out into the hallway as his hands still twisted at Derek’s disposed shirt. “I should get back to work,” he offered as an excuse.

“Late shift, huh?” Derek asked, reaching his arm up to lean against the doorframe as he kept his gaze on Stiles.

“Need to talk to the boss,” Stiles replied. “Fill out an incident report.”

“Sorry about that,” Derek answered.

Stiles smiled, “No you’re not.”

Derek allowed a similar smile to pull at his own lips. “I’m not.”

“How long are you staying?” Stiles asked, stalling even with the knowledge that Deaton was holding the elevator for him.

“A few nights,” Derek replied. “But I’m finding that I like it here.”

A faint blush burned Stiles’ cheeks, the implication of Derek’s words obvious with the way he was looking at Stiles.

“Stiles,” Deaton’s voice pulled Stiles’ mind back to their reality.

Stiles was standing in the hallway of his father’s hotel—a hotel for assassins—speaking with _the Boogey Man_ of assassins. He spared Deaton a brief look, knowing when he was being retrieved. He turned back to Derek, uncertain what to say.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Stiles,” Derek offered, his eyes still focused on Stiles.

Stiles thoughtfully nodded, his stomach twisting and looping with nerves as he reinforced his determination. He moved forward, pressing a kiss to Derek’s cheek. The corner of his lips barely grazed Derek’s own, electrifying the experience. He welcomed the soft touch of Derek’s beard caressing his face as he allowed the kiss to linger. “Good night, and sweet dreams, _Baba Yaga_ ,” he nearly whispered, moving back away from Derek and heading for the elevator.

It wasn’t until the doors were closed, Derek obstructed from view by the metal doors closing, that Deaton spoke.

“You believe that to be wise, Mr. Stilinski?” Deaton asked, not bothering to look at Stiles.

“I know what I’m doing,” Stiles answered in annoyance.

“When you involve yourself in things, it also involves your father as well,” Deaton elaborated. “Your father cannot be seen as favoring someone—especially someone with as dark a past as Mr. Hale’s.”

“I know,” Stiles partially growled under his breath. “But as everyone in this hotel seems to know, my father doesn’t care who his _bartender_ fucks, as long as he doesn’t get his little heart broken, right?”

“Mr. Randall’s run-in with Mr. Hale was not accidental in the slightest,” Deaton informed Stiles, not showing an ounce of surprise when Stiles turned to look at him. “Mr. Randall had been very vocal in his desire to … put your mouth to good use, for some time, actually.”

Stiles stared at Deaton, waiting for him to make a point.

“Your father saw an advantage in having Mr. Hale being a guest here,” Deaton continued. “He asked him to evaluate Mr. Randall’s threat level. Clearly, Mr. Hale found it necessary to permanently solve the problem.”

Stiles turned to look back at the elevator doors. “That’s what Derek meant by knowing the details when involved,” he commented.

“I just ask you to be careful, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton pressed.

“I always am,” Stiles replied.

Stiles didn’t stop his flirtations with Derek, finding their time spent together at the bar to be more exciting than anything else. He cherished that time, finding himself waiting for Derek to sit down in his usual spot.

That was why, now with Derek silently driving them both back to Beacon, Stiles couldn’t stop himself from worrying about Derek.

“You’re still bleeding,” Stiles commented, referring to the blood staining Derek’s suit. “If you pass out, you’ll kill us both.”

Derek released a faint snort. “I wouldn’t put you in danger like that, Stiles.”

Stiles observed Derek’s profile. “I know that.”

Derek turned his head briefly, stealing a glance at Stiles before looking back at the road.

“You killed those men very easily,” Stiles sighed, running his hands over his legs as he waited for Derek to answer him.

“I’m good at what I do,” Derek answered, a strange softness in his tone.

“Thank you,” Stiles replied, turning to look at Derek. “I’m positive they would have killed me, or … well, found other means of entertainment before handing my body back to my dad.”

Derek idly ran his hand over the steering wheel. “Your father sent me after you for a reason,” he finally stated. “He knew you were in serious danger.”

“That’s why he sent you,” Stiles answered. “My own personal knight in shining armor. Well, three piece suit, but still,” he smirked as he looked at Derek. “He sent the boogeyman.”

“I’m not really _Baba Yaga_ ,” Derek started, almost hating the name they had given him.

“No, you’re the one they send to kill _Baba Yaga_ ,” Stiles partially snorted. “Who gave you the name of a childhood terror?” He relaxed in his seat, allowing his head to lull to the side as he looked out the window. “You’re not as terrifying as some of the people I’ve met in the bar.”

Derek’s eyes scanned the road, wishing to focus on something other than his name—his reputation when it came to the world they inhabited. “The Argents.”

“Argents,” Stiles echoed, the name distasteful to speak.

The Argents had been on the outside of Beacon’s favor since Kate tried to assume control years ago. Stiles wasn’t completely certain that Kate had nothing to do with his kidnapping this evening, either. They were a family grasping for power in a world that was changing around them. And now that they were going to lose their finest asset, Derek, they had started to lash out more and more.

A silence fell between them, waiting for the inevitable moment Derek would drop Stiles off and finish his last contract with John.

Stiles lingered in the car, watching the patience on Parrish’s face as he waited for Stiles to exit the vehicle.

“You have to get out of the car for your father to know you’re alive,” Derek finally stated, watching Stiles carefully.

“So, you’re really leaving,” Stiles countered, turning to look at Derek.

“After tonight, yes,” Derek replied. “I have one last contract to fill for the Argents.”

Stiles frowned, his eyebrows furrowing as he let the information sink in. “They’re going to try and make it an impossible task.”

Derek allowed his grip to slip from the steering wheel. “I know.”

“You could die,” Stiles added.

“I could always die,” Derek answered.

Stiles released a displeased huff. “Derek,” he turned his body towards Derek, looking up at him. His words were lost the moment Derek’s lips met his. He released a faint noise of surprise as he pressed into Derek, his hand reaching up to cup Derek’s cheek. He opened his mouth to Derek, giving into the kiss completely as he tried to keep Derek focused in the moment—in the belief that this kiss was worth staying. He reluctantly allowed the kiss to end, holding himself back from crawling over the shifter and into Derek’s lap.

“You have to get out of the car, Stiles,” Derek stated against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles wanted to push in again, to silence Derek’s logic. “I don’t want to.”

Derek placed a fleeting kiss before pulling back completely. “I want you to.”

Stiles looked at Derek in disbelief. He hated Derek in that moment—for giving him a glimpse of something they both knew could never happen. “The stuff of nightmares,” he pitifully stated, shaking his head. “Damn you, Derek Hale.” He roughly opened the door, climbing out of the car and away from Derek. He slammed the door shut, rushing passed Parrish to get inside the hotel. He refused to look back at the sound of the car pulling away from the curb.

~*~

Derek limped into the hotel lobby, ignoring the pain that grew with every step he took. He welcomed to pain, telling him that he was alive every step of the way—that he had succeeded in guaranteeing his retirement.

“Mr. Hale,” Lydia greeted as she typed away on her computer. She looked up at him as he approached. “Should I page the doctor?”

“Please,” Derek answered.

“I’ll inform Deaton of your status, and send him up to your room as soon as he is available,” Lydia replied, formally typing in the request before reaching for the phone.

Derek headed for the elevator, knowing that everything was being taken care of by Lydia. He closed his eyes, waiting for the elevator to ding to a halt on his floor. He took a calming breath, accepting that he managed to succeed—he had earned his freedom. He took his time walking down the hallway and towards his room. He wasn’t surprised to find Stiles sitting on the floor, back pressed against his door.

Stiles had changed his clothes from the bloodied professional attire he had been wearing when kidnapped. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans and beat up converse, his hoodie was baggier than it needed to be. He looked younger, as if he was lost and looking for someone who knew better.

Stiles looked up at the sound of Derek’s approaching footsteps. He scrambled to stand in order to get out of Derek’s way, keeping his gaze on him. “You’re still hurt,” he uttered.

“But not dead,” Derek replied as he retrieved his room key from his pocket.

Stiles snorted at that. “I can see,” he fidgeted behind Derek, his eyes looking at the door’s lock as he patiently waited for Derek to finish.

Derek pushed open the door, shifting his body to block Stiles access to the room. “What are you doing, Stiles?” He asked, carefully observing Stiles.

“Looking after you until Deaton arrives,” Stiles countered in explanation.

“Stiles—”

“I’m just making sure you don’t pass out,” Stiles pushed. “Don’t be an asshole,” he added, easily pushing passed Derek and waltzing into the room as if he owned it. He knew Derek would let him. “You need someone to make sure you don’t die.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” Derek replied, walking into the bedroom after Stiles. He slowly made his way over to the bed, watching Stiles anxiously pace in front of the balcony’s window. “Stiles,” he calmly stated his name, gaining his attention. “It’s going to be okay.”

Stiles paused, turning to look at Derek. He folded his arms over his chest, faintly nodding in agreement. “I know, I know,” he replied, relaxing some. He stood to attention when the door opened to reveal Deaton.

Derek watched Stiles while Deaton worked. He noted how focused Stiles was as Deaton mended his wounds, testing his pain receptors more than any healer. He noticed how Stiles looked away when the stitching began, noting how younger Stiles looked when he would fidget with uncertainty.

“That should do you just fine, Mr. Hale,” Deaton finally stated as he finished placing a patch over Derek’s side. “I would say minor nightly activities shouldn’t aggravate the stitches. But if you decide to go out again—”

“I’m staying in tonight,” Derek countered, relaxing into the bed some.

“Very well,” Deaton replied with a faint smile. “And on behalf of Beacon, allow me to formally thank you for the recovery of Mr. Stilinski.”

Derek allowed his gaze to flicker to Stiles before looking back at Deaton. “You’re welcome.”

Deaton rose from his spot beside Derek, carefully observing Stiles.

Stiles refused to move under Deaton’s critical gaze. He didn’t care if Deaton wanted to lecture him, because he wasn’t going to leave just yet. He stared back at Deaton, challenging him to actually try and make him leave.

“Gentlemen,” Deaton finally acknowledged in departure.

Derek stood, following Deaton towards the door. He leaned against the door as he shut it, catching the lingering gaze Deaton had held on him. He knew he was being watched, so did Stiles.

It was never a question of when they’d be alone, but if John would allow them to be alone. Their attraction for each other wasn’t a complex puzzle in need of solving, but a blatantly obvious sign. It was a bridge they both were scared to cross, knowing the implication it could create for everyone.

Derek didn’t startle at the touch of a hand on his back. He welcomed it more than anything. He turned to look at Stiles, allowing his hands to abandon the door. He felt an uncertainty that he hadn’t recognized in a long time.

Stiles was beautiful—there wasn’t another word for him, not for Derek. He was everything Derek wanted and more. And in any other situation, Derek knew how to handle himself. He knew how to convey his desires, and to act on them with little or no care of what happened to the other person involved. But this was different. This time, it was _Stiles_.

Stiles ducked his head, quickly pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips before he could change his mind. He spent hours thinking about what he’d do when Derek came back, planning out the moment since Derek dropped him off. He didn’t want Derek to leave—selfish in his desire to keep Derek close. He wanted someone who understood him and this life.

Derek was compliant in the kiss, lying to himself that it was for the sake of goodbye and not pure want. He gripped Stiles’ hips, prying them apart. He allowed the kiss to linger, lightly pressing in when Stiles’ nipped his bottom lip before pulling back. “Stiles—”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Stiles countered, his eyes heavy with want as his hands settled on Derek’s hips. “I’ll drop it then.” His lips parted to speak, only to try and press back in. “But I know you want me.” A lazy grin spread across his lips as he tilted his hips just right, pressing against Derek. “I can feel it.” They were both aroused, completely aware of the quickly changing atmosphere. “I want to feel it,” he pressed, hoping that he’d talk enough to convince Derek that he wasn’t a completely empty investment.

Stiles wasn’t bad at sex. He had been told before that he was good—that he had a use for his mouth other than talking. It was always a game to the others, thinking that they could fuck the bartender. He never let them, leaving them always wanting more. But Derek was different. Stiles wanted it all—he wanted to fall apart under Derek’s hands, and it scared him how much he actually wanted it.

“Derek, just tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” Stiles finally stated, wanting to recoil in on himself in fear. He wanted nothing more than for Derek to accept him—accept them. But he knew when he was crossing a line.

“I can’t,” Derek started, shaking his head.

Stiles took a step away from Derek, stepping further away from him. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, feeling stupid. He moved to get passed Derek, surprised when Derek grabbed his arm, halting him.

“I can’t tell you I don’t want this,” Derek clarified. “Because it would be a lie.”

They kissed gently, standing at the door as if they needed the ability to halt things if it became too much. Their touch was tender, calm in the way they pulled at each other’s clothes in a desperate attempt to feel more.

“Then don’t lie to me,” Stiles breathed against Derek’s lips.

~*~

With a sharp intake of breath, Stiles’ body settled into the bed. He caressed Derek’s hips, encouraging him to keep going. The moonlight was just enough to illuminate Derek’s features from the dark, his eyes bright and clear as he looked down at Stiles falling apart beneath him. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips, moving his hips at an experimental rate, testing just how much both of them could handle.

“Keep going,” Stiles partially gasped, gripping at Derek’s arms, chasing after Derek’s lips for more kisses. His breath hiccupped, unable to stop himself from closing his eyes and just feeling.

It felt timeless, as if nothing outside mattered, especially not the fact that Derek had killed more than one man today—for Stiles. It was intoxicating, to be loved and held by a man as powerful as Derek, someone who could end a life as gently as he nurtured one.

Derek bracketed Stiles body with his own, his arms practically cradling Stiles’ head as he continued to roll his hips. He trailed kisses over Stiles’ throat, sucking hickeys into his pale skin. He nipped at the blossoming marks, knowing they’d be more than evident tomorrow. He released a faint groan when Stiles’ fingernails bit into his back, scraping across his shoulder blades.

Stiles squeezes his legs together, a faint encouragement for Derek to keep going. He hooked one of his legs around Derek’s thigh, opening himself to a new angle. He bit down on Derek’s shoulder when he came untouched, the friction of Derek’s abs and the brushing of his prostate was enough to make him a shaking mess in Derek’s arms. He was certain that he never came down from his orgasm after that.

Stiles kissed Derek, fisting his hands in his hair, until he felt Derek’s orgasm hit him. He held Derek as he trembled through it. He didn’t care that they were a sweaty mess, it was perfect.

Stiles felt completely strung out, his entire body humming from the pleasure. He lazily smiled when Derek managed to gingerly kiss him upon returning to the bed after discarding the condom. He opened his mouth, letting Derek kiss him—taste him. It left them even more breathless.

Stiles turned onto his side as he hugged into his pillow, happy when he felt Derek slot behind him. He let Derek pull him close, holding him in his arms. This was all he ever wanted from Derek—a place to stay and belong. It felt more than right. It felt like home.

~*~

Derek immediately woke to the buzzing of his phone vibrating against the nightstand. He looked down at Stiles, watching him silently sleep the night away. He turned his body to look at his phone, slightly wincing when his stitches pulled. He looked down at the bandage, seeing the blood already seeping through the white gauze. He quickly snatched his phone, moving to a sitting position as he nursed his torso from the small ache.

“Hello?” Derek quietly answered, not wishing to accidentally wake Stiles.

“Hello, is this Derek Hale that I’m speaking with?” The unfamiliar voice questioned.

“Yes,” Derek answered, curious who would dare to call him in the middle of the night.

“Mr. Hale, it’s about your sister,” the voice explained.

Derek felt sick by the time he hung up. He had almost forgotten about everything. He had been hopeful enough that everything would just work out in the end, and he’d be granted the happy ending he knew he didn’t deserve. He turned to look down at Stiles once more, seeing him still sound asleep beside him.

The world was still turning, and life went on outside of Beacon—his life outside had kept ticking away. And he knew he couldn’t have both.

Derek leaned forward, his hand pressing into the mattress by Stiles’ shoulder. He felt the way the bed dipped and forced their bodies to roll together. He watched Stiles barely stir before pressing back into Derek to seek out the heat of his body. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple, closing his eyes as he allowed his cheek to brush against Stiles’ hair.

Derek tore himself away, forcing himself to get out of the bed. He dressed quickly, knowing that the longer he stayed, the more likely he was to try and broker an understanding with Stiles. The best he could wish for was Stiles hating him—the best thing for Stiles was to hate him.

Derek pulled the sheet up higher, covering Stiles’ completely. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of another kiss, knowing he didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t deserve Stiles.

~*~

In the morning, there weren’t any words to be exchanged. No stolen kisses in the morning light as they lazily stirred beneath the sheets. The bed was cold where Derek had been, no note resting on his pillow to tell Stiles he would be back.

Stiles forced himself out of bed, collecting his clothes at a slowed pace as he started to piece himself back together again. He was deliberately stalling as he walked the hallway to the elevator, feet sluggish in his walk to the concierge desk as he waited for Lydia to finish her phone call.

“Stiles,” Lydia partially greeted as she typed out her notes, placing the phone back into its bed.

“Hey, Lyds,” Stiles lightly greeted, running his fingertips over the countertop. “Was there anything left for me?” He forced himself to ask, looking at Lydia for the first time.

Lydia’s fingertips paused as she looked at Stiles from above the frames of her glasses. “Should there have been something left for you?” She questioned back.

“I just wanted to know if room 1208 left anything,” Stiles replied, unwilling to say Derek’s name. He knew she could look it up with a flick of her wrist—or she might already know off the top of her head what room Derek was renting.

Lydia turned her head to look at the monitor, carefully scrolling through her data before typing in the information. She slowly pursed her lips. “I have nothing from 1208. He checked out shortly after 3 this morning.”

Stiles thought about last night—the numbers he had seen glowing through the darkness on the face of the nightstand’s clock. He remembered seeing them burn a solid quarter passed 2. He shook his head, realizing that Derek barely managed to hold him for an hour before slipping away.

“Thanks,” Stiles hollowly answered, turning to head back to the elevator. He needed to get away. He needed to be alone—it’s when he thought the clearest.

“Stiles,” Lydia started taking a step to the side, willing to leave the concierge desk behind if Stiles needed her.

“I’m fine,” Stiles called back, refusing to turn around and look at her.

~*~

Stiles felt pathetic. He was a grown man, hiding in his father’s office, drunkenly sobbing into a phone receiver.

It had been months since his last break down. Stiles had promised Lydia that it meant nothing. He had promised his dad that everything was fine. But the great Baba Yaga had torn his whole world apart and made him the living cliché he vowed he’d never be again.

Stiles took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to sober up some. He wiped at his tears, determined to keep the shakiness of his hurt from his voice. He dialed the numbers before he could stop himself. The ringing in the phone was deafening, taking an eternity of pauses between.

“Hello?” A female voice greeted Stiles.

Stiles bit his bottom lip, pulling the phone away from his ear to make sure he dialed the phone number his father had written down for Derek.

“Hello?” The female voice stated with more authority.

Stiles hung up before he could say anything. He thought about calling back, maybe explaining himself. He lightly startled when the phone lively rang in his hand. He saw the number he dialed flash across the screen. He pressed the ‘send’ button before he could stop himself.

“Hello?” Stiles finally spoke.

“Yeah, hello,” the female voice replied in an annoyed tone. “Look, I’ve noticed that you’ve called before. A few weeks ago, and even a few months back.”

Stiles swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I was just looking for Derek.”

The woman grew completely silent. “What do you want with him?” She finally demanded.

“I wanted …” _I wanted him to tell me it meant something_ , he thought.

“Who are you?” She questioned, her voice firm and unwavering, even with her anger building.

“I was calling on behalf of the Stilinskis,” Stiles offered, unsure what could placate such a building anger.

Stiles had been wrong in his attempt.

“Derek doesn’t live in that world anymore, you got that?” The woman snapped. “He doesn’t want anything to do with anything, or anyone, from that life.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t call back here,” the woman angrily commanded. “Derek doesn’t need this—not now. He doesn’t need you trying to mess up his life,” she added. “Just leave us alone—he’s done enough for all of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sheepishly apologized, his ears burning red from embarrassment, thinking he would have been afforded the small blessing of leaving a stupidly drunken voicemail for Derek to ignore at his leisure.

“Just don’t call back,” the woman reiterated before slamming her receiver against the base.

Stiles listened to the dial tone as he let the tension fall from his body. He let his head drop back against his father’s desk, not at all pretending that the piece of furniture could hide him from reality. He closed his eyes, but refused to fight the tears and he let the phone fall from his hand.

He vowed that it was the last time he was going to cry over Derek Hale.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek calmly walked through the hotel’s basement, remembering the loops that would lead him to the club door. The gold coin was heavy in his hand as he headed towards the door, prepared to pay the consequences of diving back into the life. He wasn’t surprised when the man at the door looked shocked to see him.

Derek ignored the soft beat of the music, his eyes adjusting to the light. He itched to go to the bar, to see if he could find the familiar face behind the counter top. The face of an angel—a godsend he never understood how or what he did to deserve. He pushed himself to leave the bar behind, not even glancing at it in hopes he’d catch a sight of him.

Derek headed back to the booth in the back corner, knowing John would keep the same booth he always did—it gave him the perfect spot to keep an eye on the whole club, the bar in particular. He knew why John felt at ease being able to see the bar—being able to see his son working behind it.

“May I?” Derek asked as he stood next to the booth’s table.

John looked the same—aging seemed to be a nonfactor to Stilinski men in general. He wore the spectacles he always wore when writing in his book, jotting down information he had fed to him throughout the night, including information he overheard, bookmarking it for later verification.

John looked up at Derek, a genuinely fond smile overtaking the older man’s features. “Derek,” he stated in a pleased tone before a sadness pulled at his tone.

John had been, and still was, a sound father figure in Derek’s life. He was for many lost souls who wandered into their lifestyle. He took a natural stance as a mentor for many, the driving force behind why Beacon was still a safe place, despite its clientele. He had adopted the name “Sheriff” by many who knew him and his preferences for keeping business outside of his hotel.

In a world gone mad with violence, John was the one standing force preventing people from eating each other alive. There was always a sense of calm in Beacon, the guarantee that every person who walked through the doors was safe. No one dared to break the rules of Beacon, knowing what happened to those who even entertained the idea of it.

John gestured towards the other side of his table, ushering Derek to sit with him. “It’s been a long time,” he commented as he closed his book, slipping his spectacles off the bridge of his nose as he gave his undivided attention to Derek.

“Almost too long,” Derek stated, gesturing to the few cuts still evident on his face from earlier.

“Hm,” John thoughtfully hummed. “As I recalled, you gave beatings instead of receiving them.”

Derek snorted, partially smiling. “My age is catching up with me,” he offered.

John partially arched his eyebrows at that. “Careful, I’m old enough to be your father.”

Derek smiled at that.

“Am I allowed to ask the reason of your visit?” John pressed, knowing by Derek’s attire that he wasn’t visiting for pleasure.

“Argent,” Derek plainly stated.

John’s features twisted slightly, knowing that whatever it was that Derek wanted to do, it wasn’t going to end well for anyone. “What do you want with them?”

“To talk,” Derek replied, knowing that John would realize it was a partial lie.

“A talk,” John sighed, eyes lingering on Derek. “Have you returned?”

Derek stared back at John. “Just a talk, John.”

John shook his head. “Have you thought about this? You got out once, Derek. But this life is willing to rip you back in whether you like it or not.”

“I need to know,” Derek pushed.

“I’m sorry, but you know the rules, Derek,” John answered, putting his spectacles back on. “No business to be conducted while on these grounds.”

Derek looked down at John’s ledger, knowing that everything he could possibly need to know was hidden in those pages.

“Have a drink,” John offered, looking over Derek’s shoulder at the bar. “I know that a certain someone would be happy to see you again.”

Derek turned to look over his shoulder, catching sight of a familiar head of messy hair, pale skin, and moles. The exact person he wanted to see behind the bar.

 _Stiles_.

Derek stood, buttoning his jacket as he turned to look back at John. “It’s personal, John.”

John looked up at Derek’s retreating form, knowing that he wouldn’t have pushed so hard if it wasn’t important.

It had been almost five years since Derek saw Stiles, remembering the last night he saw him. How much of a coward he had been, sneaking out of the room before Stiles could wake. He wasn’t any good—for anyone—and he didn’t want that life for Stiles.

Stiles was wearing a crisp, crimson colored button down shirt, one that clung tightly to his body. His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms, showing off his tattoos as he prepared drinks for the customers. He wore a tight black vest, his lean body almost on display as he turned back and forth, the deep v of his shirt dipping low as he leaned over the bar.

Stiles always knew how to dress to appeal to customers. He also knew he was taboo, knowing that it made him more desirable the minute people learned he was allowed to be looked at and not touched.

Derek remembered the calamity that occurred after Stiles had been kidnapped years ago. He remembered John giving him the okay to use as much force as possible—promoting that the more carnage Derek begot, the better, as long as Stiles was retrieved in one piece.

“Stiles,” Derek gently called his name.

Stiles froze, his hands stilling as he tightly held onto the glass he was cleaning. He turned, more than a little surprised when he turned around to see Derek Hale on the other side of the bar. He was calm as he set the glass down on the drying rack.

“What are you doing back?” Stiles asked over the music, moving to lean on the bar. He gripped the edge of the bar top in front of him, leaning forward some. His expression wasn’t a welcoming one. His eyebrows furrowed when Derek didn’t respond.

Derek hated that this was what brought him back to seeing Stiles again. He wanted nothing more than to rewind time and not leave the bed that morning.

“A talk with an old associate,” Derek finally answered.

“Yeah, well, dad is over there,” Stiles gestured towards the booth where John was sitting, even knowing Derek had just come from there.

“I already talked to him,” Derek answered, not bothering to settle in the stool next to him. He didn’t want to sit, and he didn’t want to leave. His body was itching to just clamber over the bar and kiss Stiles, to hold him close and beg forgiveness for being a moron.

“Then you should be on your way,” Stiles answered, moving to grab at and pointlessly rearrange glasses that didn’t need to be altered in any way. He had to keep his hands busy, especially with Derek looking at him like that.

“You look good,” Derek stated, ignoring the dismissal in Stiles’ voice.

“Years change people,” Stiles replied, keeping his eyes downcast.

“You always looked good,” Derek countered.

Stiles stopped moving the glasses, looking up at Derek. His features were soft, vulnerable in how he looked at Derek. “So, life on the other side not good enough? Had to come back for the view?”

Derek’s expression saddened some. He knew Stiles wasn’t wrong in picking at him—he almost wanted Stiles to keep doing it. It felt like old times, before everything hit a breaking point. “It was good,” he admitted, not going to lie about cherishing the years he had with Laura. “Better than I deserved—I at least got to say goodbye.”

Stiles’ features twisted into a sad expression. “I heard about Laura,” he stated, knowing that Derek was still mourning the loss of the last of his family. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Derek replied, looking wounded at the mention of Laura’s name.

Stiles sighed, knowing that whatever Derek was planning wasn’t going to end well. He caught sight of his father as he looked over Derek’s shoulder. He saw him writing on a napkin before handing it to Lydia, gesturing towards the bar.

“Did you just come back for information?” Stiles asked, looking at Derek. “Using my dad for a hit to make some cash?”

“You know I don’t need cash,” Derek answered, looking at Stiles in a more loving manner than he meant to. “And you know I’d never do something like that to John.”

“Like what?” Stiles demanded.

“Use him,” Derek answered.

“Just me, huh?” Stiles sharply replied, turning to leave Derek behind.

Derek reached a hand out, grabbing Stiles’ hand to stop him from walking away. “I never used you,” he quickly uttered.

“I’ll break your trigger finger if you don’t let me go,” Stiles glowered as he turned to look at Derek. “I don’t care if you are the great _Baba Yaga_ , nobody reaches across the bar and touches me. You should be able to remember at least that.”

Before Derek left that morning, this would have been Stiles flirting.

Derek released his hold on Stiles, looking to his side to see Boyd had come out from his seclusion at the side of the bar. He knew John had been keeping a closer eye on Stiles, ever since the kidnapping. He was relieved it was Boyd John had keeping watch. He gave a faint nod of compliance, turning his gaze back to Stiles when Boyd replied with a nod of his own. He was surprised when Stiles slid a drink across the bar top, a small napkin underneath the stem.

“Compliments of the house,” Stiles uttered, his voice tight, expression guarded.

Derek looked down at the drink, his fingertips barely touching the glass when he saw the words written on the napkin.

Red Circle.

It was the Argent’s prized nightclub. And where they were hiding Kate.

Derek pushed himself to leave the bar, taking one glance back at Stiles when he reached the door. He caught the way Stiles’ eyes watched him, how careful he was in not losing sight of him. He forced himself to leave, knowing he didn’t deserve his lingering thoughts of hope that there could be something still between them.

~*~

Derek tightened his hold on the steering wheel, determined to not pass out. He was bleeding, the wound more serious that he thought at first. He’s had worse, for sure, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt like hell.

Even with the thought of Kate dead driving him, it still hurt. First losing Laura, then having Daisy taken from him—mercilessly beaten, using her last breath to crawl across the floor to him before she passed away. She was such a small puppy, unafraid for her size. Derek knew that was why Laura chose her for Derek.

Derek felt like he should have been ready to let go. That he should have been able to let his body fade.

Derek’s head started to lull, exhaustion almost taking over. He tried to take a deep breath, the pain pulsing through his body. His vision started to blur, the feeling of lightheadedness seeping into his muscles. He reached for his phone, dialing Stiles’ phone number, the same way he did sometimes when it was late enough that he allowed himself to wallow in misery.

Stiles answered the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek started, a lightness in his voice as he focused his sight on driving.

“Derek?”

“I shouldn’t have left that morning,” Derek confessed. “I didn’t want to. You were the last person I wanted hurt.”

“Derek, where are you?” Stiles questioned, his voice was laced with concern.

“You were the best thing to happen to me,” Derek added, adjusting his body some as he tried to stop the pain. “And I left because Laura needed me. I knew, deep down, that you’d forgive me if I told you why. But you deserve better than a killer like me, Stiles. You always did.”

“Derek, you’re freaking me out,” Stiles stated as he held back a small whimper of fear.

“I wanted to die for a long time,” Derek admitted. “I was just too hung up on how to let go.”

The line went quiet as Stiles listened, trying to steady his quickened heartbeat. “Let go of what?”

“My family. My guilt,” Derek confessed. “You.”

“Derek, where are you?” Stiles pressed. “Let me come and get you.” Even after all these years, his heart still hurt when he thought of losing Derek.

Derek thought about pulling the car over, about letting it end there without the sappy goodbye he so wanted from Stiles. But the desperation in Stiles’ voice swayed him. “I’m headed back to Beacon.”

“I’ll be outside,” Stiles answered, the music from the club already fading, a sign that he was making his way towards the main level.

“I’m not going to make it back,” Derek finally replied.

“Bullshit,” Stiles partially hissed. “You’re Derek Hale. The _Baba Yaga_ of the assassin underworld. And if you don’t crawl your terrifying ass back here while there is breath in your body, I swear to God, Derek.” His voice cut off as he tried to think of something to threaten Derek with.

Derek faintly smiled, thinking about the way Stiles would no doubt be running his fingertips over his cheeks and throat in worry, his skin blotching red. He remembered how Stiles’ eyelashes would flutter as he struggled to stay focused, knowing he would be nibbling his bottom lip in panic.

“Stiles—”

“I’m on the curb waiting for you,” Stiles replied, his voice steady and firm. “You better come back to me.” He released a heavy breath, trying to let go of his fear that Derek wasn’t going to make it. “Besides, who knows what terrifying thing could find little old me out here.”

Derek faintly chuckled at that, the pain subsiding some as he focused on nothing but Stiles’ voice.

“I’m waiting for you,” Stiles added, his voice vulnerable. “You better not let me down.”

~*~

Derek woke up in an unfamiliar room. He recognized the set up as a room belonging to Beacon, but it was more unique in its current state.

The walls were covered in different objects, some framed posters, others were exotic trinkets that looked to be cherished as a gift would be.

“You’re awake.”

Derek turned his head to look at Stiles. “I’m alive,” he corrected.

“Barely,” Stiles answered as he moved to stand, dropping his book onto his nightstand. “Deaton said that if you woke up today, you’d be fine. I guess the quack isn’t that much of a quack.” He moved to into another room, focusing on retrieving a glass of water as he turned on the faucet. He paused when he caught Derek looking at him as he returned with a glass of water.

“I thought I’d die,” Derek honestly answered as he moved to sit up. The ache in his body intensified into a sudden crescendo of throbbing and sharp jabs. His muscles ached, his bones creaked.

“You almost did,” Stiles replied. “The contract is still on your head, and plopping down in front of the Beacon is a stupid way to draw attention to yourself.”

“I don’t remember how I got here,” Derek honestly answered, accepting the glass of water from Stiles.

“Lucky for you,” Stiles partially huffed. “It’s not every day that Derek Hale crumples into a bloody heap in my lap.”

Derek heard the reprimand in Stiles’ voice, knowing that no matter what, he was going to be lectured. He sipped at the water, wincing some as his whole body protested the simplest of actions.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Stiles demanded after Derek let the silence draw out.

“Nothing to say,” Derek confirmed as he nursed the water.

“That was a hell of a thing to do, asshole,” Stiles snapped. “Just call me up and act like you could erase everything by apologizing because you thought you’d be dead.”

“That’s not how I thought of it,” Derek countered, finishing off the rest of the water.

“Well, that’s how it came across,” Stiles corrected him, snatching the empty glass from Derek’s hand. “Did you even think what would have happened if you died?”

“Nothing,” Derek lightly answered.

Stiles’ expression darkened some. “Don’t be an asshole,” he growled, slamming the glass onto the nightstand with little care of what happened to it. “You knew I’d be upset about it, it’s why you called me.”

“I called you because I wanted to tell you the truth,” Derek corrected him. “I never meant to upset you,” he added, moving to sit up completely.

“You scared me,” Stiles admitted, awkwardly shuffling some. “Scared almost everyone when they heard about the shootout in the Red Circle.”

“I didn’t get to Kate,” Derek replied, pressing a hand to his bandaged torso to gage tenderness. “And now she’ll never come out of hiding now that she knows I’m coming for her.”

“You can still get to her through other means,” Stiles offered, leaning against the nightstand as he observed Derek.

Derek shook his head. “The men are too scared to say anything,” he elaborated.

“There’s Chris and Gerard, then,” Stiles replied.

“Chris would give Kate up only if it meant she’d face a fair,” Derek explained.

“And she’s so corrupt, that would never happen,” Stiles huffed. “Gerard would give you her location for his own life.”

“Good thing I’m motivated enough to kill him,” Derek commented.

Stiles partially smirked. “Decrepit old man convinced that he still rules the world.”

“He underestimates everyone he meets,” Derek stated.

“Gerard underestimates _you_ ,” Stiles started, moving to sit in the desk chair across from the bed. “Which you think he wouldn’t, given that he’s seen your work—he’s prospered from it.”

“Similar to how Kate underestimates you,” Derek replied.

“Bitch,” Stiles huffed under his breath.

“On that, we both agree,” Derek admitted.

Stiles remembered how smug she had seemed when she came to speak with John. He remembered wanting to attack her the second he saw the gold dangling from her scrawny neck, the coin dangling against the bare span where her breasts parted. He wanted to claw her eyes out for thinking she could wear his mother’s coin.

John knew he couldn’t demand it back without initiating a war with the Argents. He knew that Kate knew that fact, and for once damned himself for holding pride in his word being his bond.

Business wasn’t to be conducted on Beacon’s grounds.

Accusing Kate of having Claudia’s necklace would be accusing her of kidnapping Stiles. It would spark a number of contracts John had activated upon Stiles telling him the necklace was missing.

“Gerard would want to draw out killing you,” Stiles stated, trying to forget the anger he still felt in wake of the necklace’s absence from his neck.

“You’re suggesting I use myself as bait?”

“As a fish in a barrel, yes,” Stiles confirmed.

“Glad to see you’re over worrying about me getting hurt,” Derek commented as he moved to stand. He lightly stretched, feeling the aching yawn of his muscles more now that he was actually standing.

“I know someone whose good at long range,” Stiles replied, turning in his chair to access his laptop. “Allison’s been underground, but she has a few lines of communication up—in cases of emergencies like this.”

“Allison,” Derek faintly echoed her name.

“Yeah, you remember Allison,” Stiles replied as he continued to type. “Fair skinned, dark hair.”

“Allison _Argent_ , Stiles,” Derek pressed, deflating some as he moved to sit on the bed again.

“Allison hates her aunt almost as much as I do,” Stiles commented. “Besides, Ally owes me a favor.”

“Better be a pretty big favor if she’s going to not shoot me,” Derek replied.

“Maybe she’ll just graze you if I ask politely,” Stiles joked as he watched the screen, waiting for Allison to answer his ambiguous greeting.

Derek sighed, wondering if Stiles could ever possibly think of forgiving him.

“You know I’m teasing,” Stiles commented as if he could hear Derek’s thoughts. “I’m pissed at you, yeah, but not so much that I want you hurt.” He turned in his chair to face Derek. “You broke my heart.” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat as he remembered the countless nights he’d wake up with tears still falling. “And for a long time, I wanted to break your heart back. It took me a while to realize that that’s a near impossible task.”

Derek looked away in shame before forcing himself to look back at Stiles.

“Not a lot that can cause the great Derek Hale to fumble,” Stiles commented, turning back in his chair to wait for Allison.

“Thinking my heart could break any more was childish,” Derek finally stated as he moved to stand, taking hold of the hanging garment bag that contained his new suit. “But you weren’t wrong in thinking that there isn’t a lot that can make me fumble.”

“Lone wolf without a pack, I get it,” Stiles countered, refusing to look at Derek.

“Being packless isn’t a choice wolves make, Stiles,” Derek corrected him. “When a wolf doesn’t fit in … they leave for the good of the pack.

“You left this all behind for Laura,” Stiles snapped as he turned to look at Derek. “You went and wrapped yourself around what you had left for family, trying to protect it. I thought you would have realized that I understand that sentiment. I understand it now, and I would have understood it then, Derek.”

“I left for you,” Derek blankly stated.

Stiles stared at Derek, uncertain what he meant.

“I was dying on the inside for a long time before Laura was diagnosed as terminal,” Derek explained. “I’m a lot more fucked than you care to realize. With Laura dead, I thought I was ready to end it. I wanted to stop feeling, but you made that impossible. But the truth is, leaving you … it wasn’t a mercy for you or for me. It was an excuse for me to let go. Because I could let go if you hated me.”

Stiles struggled with an answer, wanting to say something.

A chiming notification sound interrupted the moment, forcing Stiles to look away from Derek and towards the laptop screen where Allison’s response waited.

Stiles turned back around when he heard the bathroom door shut behind Derek. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about all of it. But it all felt too final.

~*~

Derek wasn’t surprised when Gerard had more men crawling out of the woodwork. He wasn’t surprised either at how easy it was to dispatch most of them. It was more shocking to see Chris with Gerard.

“Do you have any idea what was in that vault?” Gerard furiously demanded as he paced before Derek.

Derek allowed a small smirk to fall across his lips. “Yeah, I did.” He relaxed into the chair, knowing that it was going to be drawn out, just as Stiles predicted. “I actually enjoyed that.”

“You’re still a Hale,” Gerard answered. “People don’t change, Derek, and you definitely haven’t. Still a thorn in my side.”

“As I recall, I removed several thorns in your side,” Derek countered. “Or have you already forgotten all that?”

“How’d you manage a semblance of a normal life?” Chris questioned as he moved to sit in front of Derek. He was trying to think of a way to proceed with minimal carnage, but he knew that when it came to his family and Derek, there would always be carnage.

“I lied,” Derek honestly answered. “For Laura’s benefit, I lied to myself, every step of the way.”

“You found an escape then,” Chris quietly observed.

“I found a purpose for myself—other than ending lives,” Derek replied.

“You can’t change the man you are, Derek,” Chris pressed as he leaned forward, observing Derek. “I know—I tried. We can pretend to be different, but it doesn’t change who we are in our core. We’ll always be the monsters in the night.”

“We both agree on something,” Derek solemnly stated.

“We both had our families,” Chris mindfully observed. “You had the far better deal with Laura.” He took a step away from Derek, carefully looking at their surroundings. “This life, Derek, it follows you. It clings to you like a disease, infecting everyone who comes close to you,” he looked back at Derek. “It kills everything you love to keep you here, unleashed upon us all.”

“Give me Kate,” Derek gruffly stated.

“It was just a dog, Derek,” Chris sighed.

“Just a dog?” Derek incredulously stated as he watched Chris begin to walk away from him. “Chris.”

Chris turned to look at Derek, ignoring the fact that his father was leaving Derek behind to be dealt with quickly.

“When Laura died, I lost everything,” Derek explained. “I was nothing—I knew nothing. Until that dog arrived on my doorstep. A final gift from my sister—the last of my family. A parting, a way to grieve … A semblance of hope. Until Kate took that from me. _Stole_ that from me.”

An understanding fell over Chris’ features. He knew what it was like to lose everything and be controlled by his family’s whims. He knew that Kate had done what she had to hurt Derek—he knew that she was twisted in her cruelty, unforgiving for making others suffer.

Chris nodded in understanding, leaving Derek behind with the two men meant to finish the contract out. He had more than enough faith that Derek would find a way to escape.

“Gerard,” Derek called after him, allowing his anger to flow. “People keep asking me if I’m back, and I haven’t had an answer for them. But now, I think I am back. I’m back to haunt your every waking moment. So, you can either give me your daughter, or you’ll die screaming with her!”

Gerard’s voice was far away when he ordered the men to kill Derek.

A high caliber round broke through the air, echoing loudly after the bullet tore through its target.

Derek wasn’t surprised that it was a kill shot—Allison never missed. It was easy for Derek to dispatch the last man, using the man’s innate fear of him to his advantage. He didn’t react when another shot rang out to break the lock necessary to open up a faster route for him to get to Gerard.

Allison followed Derek’s movements through her scope, keeping a close eye on him. “He’s headed your way,” she stated into her headset.

“Thank you, Ally,” Stiles answered, a sigh of relief coming through the speaker.

“He’s a handful,” Allison answered with a smile as she lowered her rifle, moving to dismantle it once more. “You be careful with him.”

“He’s nothing but a teddy bear when he’s with me,” Stiles replied.

“He’s killed more than thirty people in the past two days, Stiles,” Allison replied as she stored her rifle.

“He’s the only person in the world I know I don’t have to be careful around,” Stiles explained. “I’m safe with him,” he added. His voice was soft, completely smitten with the very idea of Derek being around him.

“Heaven help us all if something ever happened to you, Stiles Stilinski,” Allison stated with a smile on her lips. “He’d burn the whole city down for you.”

Stiles faintly snorted as he started the Camaros engine, shifting the car into gear before speeding off towards where Derek had chased the vehicle meant to transport Gerard _away_ from the crime scene. “And I’d tear the underworld apart for him.”

Stiles spun the vehicle to a halt by the curb, watching as Derek spoke with Chris. He wasn’t ashamed of the joy he felt at seeing Gerard’s lifeless body sprawled out on the pavement—the man deserved a far worse fate than a swift death at the hands of Derek.

Derek lowered his gun from Chris, leaving him behind as he walked towards the Camaro. He relaxed when he got in the car, allowing Stiles to take the initiative in driving.

“So?” Stiles quietly asked to break the silence.

“He told me where Kate is,” Derek replied. “Pulled the contract, too. Which will make this all a lot easier.”

“Easier,” Stiles pondered. “What about this to begin with has been easy?”

“Nothing in our lives are easy,” Derek answered.

“You’re going to end all this,” Stiles commented. “Does that mean you’re going to leave us behind again?”

Derek looked at Stiles, observing him. “I don’t know.”

Stiles slammed on the brakes, causing the vehicle to come to a halt. He threw the car in park.

Derek wasn’t startled by the action, placing his hand against the dashboard to keep himself from jostling in his seat.

“I’m not playing this game anymore,” Stiles snapped as he turned to look at Derek. “Either you are leaving again, or you’re not.”

“Stiles—”

“Don’t,” Stiles hissed. “Don’t try to make me feel like I matter if I don’t.”

Derek observed Stiles carefully.

“This life is terrifying as hell some times, especially when you care about someone,” Stiles started. “But I’m never going to be able to leave. My father runs Beacon, and as long as my father is who he is, I’m going to be implicated in this life. And I’m fine with that. If you want to leave this life behind, just leave. But don’t try to make me feel like I matter to you.”

“You’ve always mattered to me,” Derek countered.

“Do you hate this life?” Stiles asked. “Do you hate it—were you trying to run away from it, or just from yourself?”

“I told you, I left for Laura,” Derek explained.

"I called you," Stiles suddenly confessed. "I called you several times after you left. I wanted to know why."

Derek stared at Stiles. He wasn't sure what he felt—sadness that he never knew; anger at Laura for never telling him; uncertain of Stiles' point in bringing up the past.

"I wanted to know if I was worth it," Stiles pressed. "I wanted to know if you'd wade back into this life for me. Jesus, that's so fucked up," he released a sad laugh. "If you care about someone, you want them to be safe and happy, don't you? I just wanted you to be yourself, and I had been convinced for a long time that this life—who you were when we were together in Beacon—was the real you. I just ... I don't know anymore, Derek."

Stiles closed his eyes, bumping his head against the steering wheel in frustration. “If you're back for good ... my dad was right and you should have stayed gone. This life does nothing but drag you down. So, if you want to stay gone, then make sure you don’t leave any loose ends. ” He shifted the car back into drive, heading back to Beacon.

They drove in silence, both knowing that no matter what, it was never going to be an easy life. Stiles was eerily quiet as he pulled up outside of the hotel, putting the car into park. “I won’t wait for you for the rest of my life, no matter how much I want to,” he started as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “But please, Derek, don’t kill yourself for this. If not for me, then for Laura.” He climbed out of the car before he could change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to break it into another chapter. The next chapter will be the last one, and it's more like an epilogue.
> 
> (There is a time jump between the chapters.)


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles wasn’t surprised when he didn’t hear back from Derek. He pretended that it didn’t matter. He felt the pain brewing in his gut, knowing that Derek lived by rumor alone.

The bar was a pivotal place—a center for gossip to pass through. Stiles pretended that he didn’t cling to every word of Derek.

Stiles poured the drink with ease, his hand only faltering when a familiar pendant he once thought lost was slid into his view.

The gold coin his mother gave him on her deathbed. It was still laid into a holder, clipped tightly to prevent it from falling loose of the gold chain attached to it.

Stiles forced himself to look up at the owner of the hand lingering over the coin, positive that he knew who it was, but unsure if he’d allow himself the hope. A faint smile pulled across his lips when he looked up at none other than Derek.

“Hi there, stranger,” Stiles greeted him, folding his arms as he leaned them against the edge of the bar. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” He couldn’t help the full smile he was now sporting.

“Thought I’d return this,” Derek offered as he leaned against the bar, allowing his face to come closer to Stiles’.

“I appreciate that,” Stiles replied, reaching a hand out to pick the necklace up. “But is there a reason you’re late?”

Derek feigned ignorance. “I didn’t realize I was on a schedule,” he offered.

“Are you just visiting, then?” Stiles pressed, wanting to know what to expect from this visit—if he could dare to hope that he’d have a future with Derek.

“Depends,” Derek replied.

“On?”

“This really attractive brunette,” Derek answered.

Stiles arched his eyebrows. “And pray tell, which brunette is that?”

“The one who likes to be a little sarcastic shit and act like he owns the place,” Derek elaborated.

“Oh, him,” Stiles nodded.

“Yeah, him,” Derek echoed. “Know when he gets off?”

“He gets off a lot,” Stiles smirked as he answered. He held back his laugh when Derek gave him a deadpanned look. “I have a break in 15.”

~*~

Stiles pretended not to be giddy as he grabbed his jacket, meeting Derek outside the main entrance of Beacon. He was curious why Derek had asked him to meet him there when he had access to plenty of rooms that would allot them much needed privacy. He nodded in parting to Isaac, knowing that his father would more than likely be informed within the minutes it took him to get away that he was seen leaving with Derek.

Stiles paused when he caught sight of Derek. He knew that despite the time, Derek could still take his breath away. He watched Derek for a moment, relishing in the stolen moment to see how calm Derek was. He loved seeing him at ease, never before witnessing how happy Derek could be now that there was an open horizon for him.

“How long do you have for your break?” Derek asked without turning to confirm that it was indeed Stiles behind him. He just seemed to always know.

“As long as you want,” Stiles honestly replied. “I don’t really have a work schedule,” he offered with a faint shrug.

Derek allowed a small smile to fall across his lips as he turned to look at Stiles.

“So, you have me where you want me,” Stiles stated as he walked down the steps to Derek.

“I need your help with something,” Derek offered.

“Ah, how mysterious of you,” Stiles smirked as he came to a stop beside Derek.

Derek smiled in response, offering his hand to Stiles.

Stiles looked down at Derek’s hand, as if he was observing something for the first time. He slowly slipped his hand into Derek’s, enjoying the way their fingers intertwined.

Derek started walking, prompting Stiles to follow beside him.

“Do I get a hint where we’re going?” Stiles asked as he leaned into Derek’s space.

“If you guess it right, I’ll tell you,” Derek allowed.

“A challenge,” Stiles smirked as he looked forward. “Your house.”

“No,” Derek answered.

“A hotel?”

“Stiles, we just came from a hotel.”

“Yeah, but my dad lives there, dude. No one wants to have sex in the same building their parent sleeps in.”

“It’s not a hotel.”

“A motel then.”

“I’m not bringing you somewhere to make lo—”

Stiles stumbled some before observing Derek. “Were you about to say ‘make love to you’?” He released a giddy noise when Derek didn’t answer. “Oh my gosh, Derek Hale wants to make love to me.”

“I said I wasn’t going to,” Derek promptly replied.

“But you want to,” Stiles excitedly countered him. “The _Baba Yaga_ —the terror of the assassin underworld, wants to make love to me. That’s the sweetest thing.”

“I’m going to let go of your hand if you don’t stop teasing,” Derek bluffed as his blush intensified.

“You’re adorable,” Stiles quietly uttered, placing a chaste kiss on Derek’s cheek as they continued walking down the sidewalk.

"I wanted to bring you on a special errand," Derek partially sulked.

Stiles looked at Derek, giving him a sincere look. "Okay. But only if we can go back to my place afterwards."

Derek softly snorted as he rolled his eyes. He turned around, pulling on Stiles' hand to get him to follow. "So much for romantic gestures."

"You're the embodiment of a romantic gesture," Stiles playfully stated as he smiled at Derek, walking beside him as they headed back towards Beacon. "Derek, we can go—" He startled to a stop when Derek turned to face him, pulling his body close.

"I'll bring you there after I thoroughly apologize," Derek answered, allowing his arm to wrap around Stiles' waist, his hand pressing into the small of his back as he held them together.

Stiles licked his lips, eyes flickering across Derek's face to fixate on his own lips. "Thoroughly apologizing is always nice," he confirmed with a small nod of his head.

~*~

“I’m sorry, what was that you were saying about not making love?” Stiles panted as he collapsed onto the bed. He partially opened his eye to get a look at Derek, smirking at seeing the way Derek’s chest was quickly rising and falling from his panting.

“I didn’t make love to you,” Derek countered between pants.

“How tenderly you touched my body says otherwise,” Stiles stated as he crawled over to Derek, not caring as he plopped down onto his chest, smirking at the soft huff of air that came from Derek after impact. He didn't want to seem obvious in his reasoning for keeping Derek pinned under him. He wanted to make sure that he'd wake the moment Derek started to slip from the bed—he wanted at least a goodbye this time.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek finally announced, wanting to make sure Stiles understood his sincerity. He could feel the way Stiles’ brain was jumping to conclusions, worrying about what would happen the next morning.

“I know,” Stiles commented, allowing his hand to expand over Derek’s chest, his fingertips brushing through Derek’s chest hair.

Derek turned his body into Stiles, forcing the younger man to oblige his movement by laying on his back. He looked down at Stiles, using his free hand to brush through a few stray locks of hair standing in disarray. “I’m not going to leave. I’m going to be here when you wake up.”

A weight left Stiles’ body, his limbs relaxing some as his hand traced over one of the many scars marring Derek’s body. “And every day after that?”

Derek released a sigh. “You don’t want me to get a job?”

Stiles smacked Derek’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to be romantic and say ‘Every day.’”

Derek smiled down at Stiles, pressing a fond kiss to his lips. “Every day.”

“Good,” Stiles mumbled into their kiss.

~*~

Derek woke to an empty bed, not at all surprised that Stiles was up at a random hour of the early morning. He turned onto his back, looking at the ceiling as he took a moment to himself.

After everything, it still seemed unreal. He was ready for life to end—the meaning being gone for such a long time, that he stopped remember what he was going through the motions for. But now, with Stiles, it all felt as if he finally managed to do something correct—to pull some semblance of a hope out of the train wreck his life had been. He had grown used to a routine—to Stiles sometimes getting out of bed at random hours, not at all keeping an eye on the clock now that he was living outside the city, in a house of his own. He had grown used to living a menial life, one that didn't involve doctors appointments or scooping out a potential contract.

It was just Stiles and Derek. And Bella.

Derek smiled when he heard the sound of pattering paws against the floorboards, releasing a faint laugh when a heavy body pranced up onto the bed and excitedly licked at him.

“Bella,” Derek groaned when she stuck her muzzle into his face to lick him awake.

Bella wiggled her body some in excitement as she rearranged her body to partially lay on Derek. She shuffled around, joyfully resting against Derek’s side as she released another huff of happiness.

Stiles sleepily padded into the bedroom, yawning as he closed the door behind him. He crawled into bed, nodding and releasing another yawn as Bella sat up to smell him too. “I told you a bigger bed would be smarter,” he commented as he plopped down onto his side of the bed, allowing Bella to resume her spot between them.

“She’d grow even more ambitious and lay across the bed diagonally then,” Derek replied, scratching the back of Bella’s ear.

“You spoil her,” Stiles commented, his words muffled against the pillow. “She has no respect for my sleep.”

Bella released a soft yawn of her own, reaching her head over to Stiles to lick him.

“Alright, alright,” Stiles gently pat her head. “Good girl.”

“She knows you’ll give her treats if she wakes you up in the morning,” Derek sleepily commented.

“She’s a good girl, and deserves all the treats,” Stiles mumbled as he started to drift off to sleep.

Derek turned his head to look at Stiles. He couldn’t help but smile at the picture before him.

Stiles’ hair was slightly in disarray as he hugged his pillow. He was as breathtaking as ever. His free arm was resting over Bella’s torso to accommodate the pit bull’s body from taking up too much room.

Bella had grown more and more loving with every day that she realized she wasn’t going to go back to the pound—when she discovered that she had a home. Being a pit bull in a pound was bad enough, but when the woman behind the counter tried to deter Derek and Stiles away from Bella, it only meant she belonged to them more.

It was Stiles that coaxed Bella out of her kennel, kneeling on her level and welcoming her with a calm open palm. It was Stiles’ laughter at Bella’s joyful kisses as he looked up at Derek with a smile blazoned across his face that Derek understood what Laura’s letter meant.

_Derek,_

_I’m so sorry I can’t be there for you anymore. But you still need someone in your life—someone to love. So start with the puppy. She’s not a replacement, and she’s not what you really wanted._

_I know you love someone out there—someone who can’t seem to get you out of his head either. But you won’t let yourself have that._

_I love you, Derek, but this illness has loomed over us for a long time. You changed your life for me. You left a part of yourself behind in that world. And though you wouldn’t talk to me about it, I know you. You need something to live for—not just waiting around for it all to end._

_I’ve found my peace. It’s time you found yours._

_Let yourself love, Derek. You deserve it._

_Until that day comes, I’ll remain always, your best friend and loving sister,_

_Laura_

It was clear in this moment, looking across his bed at Stiles and Bella, that Derek found it. He found his hope, and not just a semblance of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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